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“You mind if I use your phone before I go?” he asked Kressler.

“Yes, I do mind.”

“Seriously?”

“Roland, your parents are both dead, you’re an only child, and you have no friends, so whoever it is you intend to call, it’s almost certainly someone you shouldn’t, or not from my office. If you need a flight or hotel room booked, my secretary will handle it. Otherwise, go find a public phone or buy another burner.”

“Jeez,” said Roland.

Still, he had his wallet, including cash and credit cards. He felt miserable and alone, but he also needed to sleep and was in no state to drive all the way home to Palm Desert. The thought of a bed, even a cheap one, was irresistible, so on the way out he asked Kressler’s secretary to recommend the nearest place with clean sheets and a strong lock on the door, and was directed to a motel a few blocks away. The secretary even called ahead to ensure it had a room available and put together a care package of snacks, including chips, fruit, soda, and a protein bar. It was such a kind gesture that Roland came close to hugging her.

He decided to wait until he got to his motel room before settling on a means of getting in touch with Vaughn’s people. Because he no longer had his phones, he didn’t have any contact numbers—nobody remembered phone numbers anymore; Bilas could barely recall his own—so reaching out would entail leaving a message at one of Vaughn’s businesses and waiting for someone to get back to him. The motel was an upscale place with a tiki bar and a pool in back, and the rack rate was enough to make Bilas’s eyes water, but the room was comfortable and quiet, and more important, it had a phone. Bilas knew that Vaughn’s cannabis stores were all owned by a single corporate entity, DeVinarex Growth Services, and the motel’s receptionist looked up its head officenumber for him. The woman who answered claimed to have no knowledge of any Devin Vaughn, but Bilas told her to cut the shit and get a message to Vaughn or Aldo Bern. He left the name and number of the motel and hung up. Then he lay down and instantly fell asleep.

BILAS WAS WOKEN BYthe phone. It rang three times before stopping, so he kept his eyes closed and drifted off again. Seconds later, the phone resumed ringing. This time, it got only as far as two rings before the noise ceased. Bilas heard a rattle as the phone was returned to its cradle. Someone was in the room with him.

He opened his eyes. To his left, on the other twin bed, sat a small man in a lightweight sky-blue suit. His longish gray-blond hair was brilliantined in place, and Bilas picked up the distinctive scent of chrysanthemum and jasmine, familiar from his father. Alongside it was another smell that reminded Bilas of the desert. The man didn’t appear to be armed, which was good. Perhaps Vaughn had sent him. If so, the messenger might have had the decency to knock instead of intruding on a stranger’s rest. Next time, Bilas thought, he’d make sure to put the safety lock in place and—

He realized he was babbling in his own head.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“My name is Seeley. I was waiting for you to wake, Mr. Bilas. I didn’t want to disturb you. You’ve had a trying time.”

Bilas ran through his limited options. He could shout for help, make ineffectual threats, or try to overpower the intruder. Before he attempted any of those things, though, it would be best to pose the obvious question.

“Who sent you?”

Bilas didn’t ask him straight out if it was Vaughn.No names. He might have been scared, but he wasn’t scared stupid.

“Who do you think?” Seeley replied.

“I’ll need more than that.”

Seeley tapped his fingers on his thighs and nodded to himself.

“Of course you will.”

He reached into his jacket, produced a small reinforced brown envelope, and handed it to Bilas.

“Open it.”

Bilas did. Inside were photographs of Antonio Elizalde. He looked dead. He was certainly blind: his eyeballs had been punctured.

“We’re going to talk, Mr. Bilas,” said Seeley. “And if we don’t like what you have to say, you’ll end up like your Mexican friend.”

Bilas threw the only thing close to hand, which was a pillow. It distracted Seeley momentarily, enough for Bilas to leap out of bed and sprint for the door. Only then did he spot the third person in the room, one who had been standing in the shadows throughout.

Ifwedon’t like what you have to say…

Bilas managed to shout one word before Seeley leaped on his back and put a hand over his mouth. That word wasplease.

CHAPTERXXIII

I made two cups of coffee, put a carton of milk under my arm, added a can of soda to my jacket pocket, and went outside to speak with Zetta. She had stopped grinding metal for a while and was examining a pile of what resembled spearheads cast in bronze.

“I brought coffee,” I said, “or a soda if you’re hot. If you need sugar for your coffee, you can add the soda.”

“I’ll take the coffee,” she said. “The soda will keep.”